anxiety, Living, Poetry

Think about it

We look outside ourselves for distraction, rather than inside for peace.

We look to diversion rather than rest.

We fill our minds to avoid distinct thoughts rather than focusing on one that truly matters.

What would happen if we slowed down . . .

to meditate

to pray

to sleep

to stare

to breathe

to think in slow, meandering paths

to sit

We’d be happier

calmer

friendlier

more patient

more peaceful

better people, more attuned to our purpose here in life

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anxiety, Living, Poetry

I am a bruise

I am a bruise

A soft spot on your skin that it hurts to look at

A navy hoodie with black sweats toasty warm from the dryer

An ache so familiar it’s almost comfortable

That vulnerable appendage inviting confrontation

from door jambs and jolly bitches,

pointy corners and conscientious offenders

Apply pressure until I turn green and purple,

puce and chartreuse

A mere shade of who I am

Sore and tender,

when will I be at ease in my own skin?

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